Daryl's Lullaby
by Imahica
Summary: Daryl Dixon has been a survivor even before the dead started to walk. But how did he become the crossbow-wielding badass we've come to love? This is the story of his youth: from his days as a delightful babe, to acquiring his girly nickname "Darlina", to his awkward pre-teen years, to his first kiss and first heart-break. *Young Merle and Daryl
1. Chapter 1 - Every Day You Play

Thanks for viewing.** Please READ and REVIEW. **Thank you so much.

* * *

**DARYL'S LULLABY**

A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction

* * *

**Summary: **Daryl Dixon has been a survivor even before the dead started to walk. But how did he become the crossbow-wielding badass we've come to love? This is the story of his youth: from his days as a delightful babe, to acquiring his girly nickname "Darlina", to his awkward pre-teen years, to his first kiss and first heart-break. (Caution: Dixon racial slurs, implied abuse.) *Young Merle and Daryl.

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**Notes: **I started to have this idea when I read that Daryl's red hanky (the very same one we see hanging from his back pocket) was given by Anna Turner in the video game Survival instinct. I didn't want to believe it because I thought it was given by someone more…well, significant. And then I also had this recent obsession of wanting to see Daryl when he was a toddler. Somehow those two things meshed together and it gave me this fanfiction.

**_Regarding Merle and Daryl's age:_** There's no exact information about the brothers' age when the series started, so I'm making my own here: When the series started, Daryl is 36 (yeah, I know Norman is 44 but he can pass as a man in mid-thirties) and Merle is 52.

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Chapter 1: **EVERY DAY YOU PLAY**

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_"Every day you play with the light of the universe._

_Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water._

_You are more than this white head that I hold tightly_

_as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands."_

- Excerpt from PabloNeruda's **_Every Day You Play_**

* * *

"Estella!"

The sound of her name merely made her stir from her deep slumber. She didn't even open her eyes; she just lied on the other side of her body and remained unconscious.

"Estella!" It was louder this time-irate even. It was probably someone who knew she would be alone in her house without her mama and papa (who were both working on a night shift this day of the week).

"Estella! I know yer in there!"

It was the familiar southern accent that finally woke her up. There could only be one redneck to whom it belonged. She opened her eyes and waited for another holler-just to be sure it was really him before she get off her bed.

"Ye know I ain't here for nothin'," the voice continued. "I'm gonna need yer help!"

"_¡No me digas_!" Estella groaned and pulled her body to a sitting position. She snatched the curtain and looked out. It was dark but she could see the unmistakable outline of the person disrupting the otherwise peaceful night.

She didn't bother with the robe. She stormed the hall to the house's entrance.

"_¡Cielosanto!_ Merle-!"

What she saw stopped her from firing swear words at him. The young man barged through and into the house leaving Estella dumbfounded with nothing else to do but close the door behind.

"Who is that baby?!" Estella asked looking at the bundle on Merle's arms.

"Well, ahm..." By now, Estella knew what it meant when Merle shrugged and snarled uncomfortably. It meant trouble. She caught her forehead with her fingers even before he could continue. "Ye know that I ain't completely tellin' ye things about me. Well," he nodded to the baby, "this is one of those things."

Estella raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her.

"He's my baby brother," Merle said almost tenderly. "I need yar help." Estella shook her head slowly as if she already had an idea what kind of help Merle needed. "He ain't stayin' in the house for a moment. No, not tonight."

Estella stared at Merle who was trying hard not to look and sound like pleading. Then she looked at the baby, making its silly baby sounds as it wrestle with the cloth holding him.

Merle seemed to have notice the subtle awe on Estella's face. "Please, señorita?" he cajoled. "He needs one night is all."

"Señorita?" Estella repeated in disgust. "I know how you call me behind my back. Taco bitch!"

Merle averted her eyes and whispered. "Actually, it's Chili Whore."

"_¡Que Cabron!" _Estella mouthed in resignation. She stepped forward and took the baby from Merle. As soon as it was safe in her arms, Merle rushed to the door.

"I hope ya'r enjoyin' yer book," he said with a knowing smile.

Estella sneered. She didn't need to be reminded of why she couldn't say no to this bastard-well, aside from the fact that she knew she was the only person Merle could ask help from. She was the only one who could put up with his bad attitude and unpredictable behavior.

"Just go to hell already."

Merle laughed. "Fine." He hunched and said, "Gracias, señorita... Bonita...whatever!" With that, the young man ran into the night.

"Wait!" Estella shouted. "You haven't told me his name!"

Merle answered without slowing down, without looking back.

"Daryl!"

* * *

The moment Merle disappeared was the moment the baby started crying.

Estella came from a street in Mexico where there were babies every other house. She was left with no choice but to learn how to make these infants stop bawling, lest she wouldn't be able to sleep with only thin walls separating her room from the non-stop wailing.

She put the baby on her bed. Before she went to the bathroom to wash her hands, she put pillows on the floor—just in case the baby would roll and fall. When she came back to her room, she checked if the little boy was wet. No. She put her pinky near its mouth and the baby reached and tried to suck.

He's hungry, she thought. Their house never ran out of milk—although they used them for cooking—but that night, Estella knew she wouldn't find any in their kitchen as they spent all of it making _champurrado_ yesterday which her parents took to work.

Moving fast, she rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. What she found were ingredients enough for a bottle of banana _agua fresca._ It should be good enough for the baby as long as it wouldn't be too sweet. Now what she needed was _the_ bottle.

Estella returned to the room and untangled baby Daryl from the bundle of cloth. A small, empty plastic bottle rolled on the bed. She took it and mixed the drink, tasted it and made adjustments until it was at the right level of sweetness. Then she sat on the bed and took the crying baby to her bosom.

"_¡Qué lindo bebé!"_ She whispered as it sucked hungrily from the bottle. _What a cute baby._ He instantly stopped crying and seemed to enjoy the unfamiliar taste of his drink. Estella stared at the infant, chuckling quietly to herself as she compared the brothers.

Baby Daryl must have been several months old—a few moons away from his first birthday. His cheeks were pink and round and her lips were red. His eyes were piercing blue topped by his brown hair. Baby Daryl's little fingers played with Estella's long, wavy, black locks as he looked back at her, silently drinking from his bottle.

Merle on the other hand was a fifteen year old rascal known as the town delinquent. At a young age, his body was muscled—which was fitting if anyone wanted to stay afloat a community where violence was part of everyday life. Estella knew he was involved with numerous odd jobs involving gangs composed of older kids. Merle had blue eyes like baby Daryl, black hair as well but curly. He had prominent forehead and thin lips that tended to slope downwards.

They looked alike, she thought. She smiled wider and shook her head remembering how she and Merle first met a few weeks ago. She was older than him by a year: sixteen. With her bronze skin, deep-set dark eyes and long, black, wavy hair, there was no mistaking that she was an immigrant. It was unbelievable that the ill-tempered, racist Merle had befriended her—or at least that was what it seemed to Estella. Although as an afterthought, perhaps it would have been better if he didn't help her, because now she owed him a favor and she's afraid—and quite sure—that it would lead her to trouble.

Estella sighed. Her mama and papa would be furious once they discover a baby in her room. Merle better take his brother home by morning.

Baby Daryl emptied his bottle in a few minutes. When she took his bottle away from his tiny mouth, the baby yawned with both of his chubby arms raised. Estella smiled a sad smile. But do you actually have a place to go home to, huh, little Daryl? She swayed him in her arms, closer to her heart.

At sixteen, Estella was not new to violence and poverty. Their family never missed a bullfight in Mexico City as her uncle was the _matador de toros_, the "killer of bulls"—the bullfighter. She first saw the violent tradition when she was just five. Fear and dread were taboos in the arena full of people who were festive and anticipating. In no time, she learned to share the same passion for seeing a man challenge a raging beast and saw him triumph…until her uncle was killed by a bull during the _Fiesta Brava_. Estella hated the brutal sport since then.

When Estella's parents lost their job a year ago, she had to stop studying. She was half-way through the last year of _secundaria_ (junior high school) when her parents decided to cross borders and moved to North America hoping for a better life. For some time, they lived in the dirtiest apartment, the only one they could afford. They lived off her father's small wage as an assistant to a shoe-maker. Then a month ago, they moved to Northern Georgia with her father declaring that they found a better job there which turned out to be a driving trucks; her mother on the other hand, prepared and sold food to the other drivers.

At least their house here smelled better than their previous apartment.

Baby Daryl had fallen asleep with his little thumb in-between his lips. Estella placed him on the bed and she lied a few inches from the infant. She was on her side, staring at the sleeping baby.

"Qué pena." What a shame. This beautiful baby would grow up with the same parents that made Merle what he was now. She was sure Merle was once like Daryl: innocent and pure. Somehow he grew up to be spiteful and cruel. Estella closed her eyes and tried to not think about anything.

There was nothing she could do.

* * *

The next morning, Estella explained to her mama and papa that she had been baby-sitting the neighbor's child for extra money. She made sure to not exactly tell them who the neighbor was. Estella carried baby Daryl and hurried to the door, off to the street, before her parents could ask her more questions.

Merle's house was several minute walk from Estella's. Daryl was crying again. "Shh…you're going home now."

When they reached the house, screams could be heard from the yard. It was a cue for Estella to go on carefully. She fixed the bundle of cloth to somehow muffle Daryl's cry. She approached the door and leaned on the wooden wall of the house, just beside a small window.

It took her only a few seconds to discern that the screaming voice belonged to Will Dixon—Merle and Daryl's father. He was obviously angry, probably drunk and possibly had just lost a sum from his usual gambling. Will was speaking in colorful Dixon language they were known for. And in between, he was swinging something that made sharp, swishing sound in the air and crisp, whacking sound landing on somewhere that sure hurt.

"Merle," Estella mumbled not daring to look through the window.

She didn't hear him cry or ask for his father to stop. There were only grunts. Estella ran away, back to her house, with baby Daryl in her arms. There was no home for him there.

* * *

Estella explained to her mama and papa, before they went to work, that the neighbor would be away again. She knew she had to tell them the truth eventually but for now, she lied. She made another banana _agua fresca_ for the baby. She would have bought him milk if she had the money, but she wouldn't get her pay from tending the nearby bar until the weekend—and she obviously would miss her shift tonight if Merle would not go back for his brother. So while the baby slept in the afternoon, she wore her baggy shirt and went out of the house to the only store they had in this town. It was quite a long walk.

There were only a few people in the small walk-in store. Estella went in knowing where she would find what she was looking for. She looked like a customer with a purpose; someone who was sure of what she needed and wouldn't want to waste time hanging around once she got it.

She knew the baby formula boxes were at the back. Estella snatched some cheap cookies in front of the stand with the formula. She pretended to compare two brands while stepping back and grabbing a box from behind and putting it in the gap between her pants and skin and behind her baggy shirt. She then walked to the counter and smiled at the young guy behind the cashier while she paid for the cheapest cookies.

That wasn't her first time shoplifting. But after the last, she had sworn she would never do it again. See? Merle was trouble.

Baby Daryl was still asleep when she returned.

Estella grabbed a book from her drawer and sat on her bed and read. This was what she had been doing before her shift at the bar. She wanted to work full time to help her mama and papa but they wouldn't let her, saying they were embarrassed enough that they had to make her stop studying. And since there were only a few kids around willing to make friends with an immigrant like her, she just spent her days reading and studying.

But at that moment, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she couldn't repress the memory of what she heard earlier from the Dixons' house. Eventually, it made her put the book down and stare at the baby peacefully sleeping beside her.

"How did you make it through that hell?" she asked in a whisper.

He didn't look like he was deprived of food; baby Daryl looked quite healthy. Merle must have been taking good care of his little brother. It must be him. It was nothing like what Señor and Señora Dixon would do.

"_Él es un sobreviviente_."

He is a survivor.

Estella fixed her dark eyes on the baby, enjoying seeing his little hands twitch from time to time. Then unexpectedly, the thin, red lips of baby Daryl curled to a smile as if he was dreaming of something beautiful.

If angels looked like anything, Estella was sure they looked like this tiny, little boy.

She grabbed the book again and started reading aloud, as if telling a story to baby Daryl:

"_My words rained over you, stroking you._

_A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body._

_I go so far as to think that you own the universe._

_I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,_

_dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses._

_I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees._"

* * *

Merle still didn't return, which did not surprise Estella—what did was baby Daryl who was being terribly difficult that night.

She had made him drink his milk, changed his cloth diaper, carried him in her arms but he still would not stop wailing. It was as if he was calling for his big brother.

Then there was only one thing left to do. With only the light from the lamp, Estella rocked him in her arms and started to sing a sad, slow lullaby she learned from a children's musical book back when she was in elementary:

"_My little prince, my little darling,_

_You close your eyes and sleep._

_I shall guard you with my heart and ring._

_My little prince, my little darling,_

_Tomorrow you can be anything._

_A knight with crossbow or a crowned king._

_My little prince, my little darling,_

_Someday when you have grown;_

_You'll guard me with your armor shining._"

Daryl suddenly stopped crying. His blue eyes were focused on Estella's as she repeated the song. He was listening. He suddenly raised both his arms and made grabbing motion with his hands toward Estella's face. Estella smiled as she sang. She obliged to baby Daryl's call and bowed her head closer to his.

His little palm touched her lips, feeling their movements as she spoke the words of the song.

Baby Daryl chuckled, as if being tickled. Estella didn't stop singing even until the blue-eyed baby pulled his arms away and yawned, licking his lips afterwards. When he did fall asleep, Estella gently put him on the bed.

"You're gonna put me in trouble as well, no? Just like your big brother."

Estella didn't need the baby to answer. She already knew she would do anything for him.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** We meet an adorable three-year old Daryl.

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**Writer's Notes:**

All poem lines were lifted from Pablo Neruda's _Every Day You Play._

The lullaby sung by Estella was written by me.

Please let me know what you think by leaving a **comment/review.**

(And PM me if I made any mistakes esp. with the Spanish/Mexican content of this chapter—I apologize in advance for any misrepresentation.)

Thank you so much!


	2. Chapter 2 - I Like for You to Be Still

Thanks for viewing.** Please READ and REVIEW. **Thank you so much.

* * *

**DARYL'S LULLABY**

A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction

* * *

_**Regarding Merle and Daryl's age:**_ There's no exact information about the brothers' age when the series started, so I'm making my own here: Daryl 36 and Merle 52.

In this chapter,** Estella is 19**,** Merle is 18** and **Daryl is 3.**

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Chapter 2: **I LIKE FOR YOU TO BE STILL**

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"_I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,_

_distant and full of sorrow as though you had died._

_One word then, one smile, is enough._

_And I am happy, happy that it's not true."_

— Excerpt from PabloNeruda's _**I Like for You to Be Still**_

* * *

Merle looked around the front yard of the Perezes' house. It was Daryl's third birthday and about seven children, boys and girls a little older than him, had settled in the tables and chairs Merle and Estella set-up earlier.

"That Tommy boy ain't here," Merle told Estella when she reached their table after serving _horchata_ to the children. The attractive Mexican took the chair beside Daryl who was already wolfing down his own mug of rice drink.

Estella rolled her deep-set, dark eyes. "I wouldn't blame the kid especially after Daryl broke his nose with the slingshot you gave him!"

"Oh, you should have seen him!" Merle said proudly and he reenacted the shot with his hands. "Fifteen feet away and the damned stone found its target right to that little boy's snoot!"

"Merle!" Estella warned as Merle laughed. She turned to little Daryl. "Did you ever say sorry to that poor kid?"

Three year old Daryl put down his empty mug on the table and looked up with a milky, foamy mustache. "I did," he nodded and licked his lips, not entirely removing the _horchata'_s white mark. "I tol 'im sorry I hurt yar nose," he said slowly with squinted eyes. "I tol 'im it ain't my..." he looked at Merle as if asking for help.

"Target," Merle supplied, gritting his teeth as if stopping himself from laughing again.

Little Daryl nodded and looked back at Estella who was listening intently. "I tol 'im yar nose ain't my target. I wanna hit yar head and ye ran and I hit yar nose." The child saw Estella frowm so Daryl added immediately, "but I tol 'im I will practice more!"

It was then that Merle bursted into laughter. "Hear that?! Haha! Ye, little...!"

Daryl chuckled. But Estella shook her head in disapproval and the boy lost his smile and stared at the older girl; his glassy, blue eyes peeking through their tiny slits, his chubby cheeks pulled up and tensed. It was like a staring contest: Estella with a frown on her face and little Daryl with his pleading, I-am-terribly-sorry-please-love-me-again look.

Estella easily lost.

How could she stay mad at this charming, little rascal? _Imposible_. Estella actually had hidden the damned slingshot toy the very same day little Tom's nose bled unstoppably due to Daryl (the nose was not actually broken, thank God), but she gave it back to him only after a day because she couldn't stand seeing him sad. She scolded Merle for being irresponsible, but then little Daryl interfered and said, "Mm sorry, Estella. We ain't bad. Please dun hit Merle like daddy"—and it just broke her heart.

So Estella just sighed and told Daryl she'll get him toys to serve as his target so he should stop aiming at people.

"But it ain't movin' like Tommy."

This triggered Merle to laugh once more.

"Then we will catch frogs!" Estella exclaimed, eyeing Merle murderously.

A few minutes later, Estella served the reheated _empanada_s made by her mama before she left earlier. She went to the tables one-by-one. There were three including the one occupied by Merle and Daryl and two occupied by seven other kids. When she returned to their table, front and center, she sat beside Merle and whispered. "I don't know half of these kids. I've never seen them play with Daryl."

"Because they don't," Merle whispered back. "They're kids from the other side," he took a big bite from the bread. "Tol 'em somethin' like a small party with little food an' they followed 'ere."

She should not be surprised. Earlier, Estella had a hard time convincing parents to allow their children to eat snack with Daryl. Their town knew who the Dixons were and only a few wanted to be associated with them. She was only able to get Sara, Kyle and Allen: Sara because her nanny was Estella's friend (and because Sara's mother and father were the rich versions of Merle and Daryl's parents: neglectful); Kyle and Allen because the brothers had not yet eaten for the whole day.

"Daryl! Where's yar birthday cake?!" Allen shouted after easily finishing his_ empanada._

Estella nervously looked at Merle: Daryl didn't have a birthday cake. It was hard enough getting the money that enabled them to make what little snacks they were able to serve the kids.

"Yeah! This ain't a party without a cake!" said a six-year old girl Estella had not seen before.

"We want cake!" the other kids joined.

Merle shrugged.

Estella was about to stand up and serve the _empanada_s she reserved for dinner to pacify the kids when little Daryl climbed to his chair, stood up and shouted, "Cakes are for puh-ssies!"

The kids shut up. The only sounds that could be heard afterwards were Merle's and little Sara's laughter. Daryl returned to his seat with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Estella eyed the Dixon brothers. She was going to give them a long lecture on cussing, both the older and the small.

Merle better pull-off his beady-eyed look.

* * *

"_¡Cielosanto!_ Why can't your good-for-nothing brother take you here instead of leaving you to play alone on the street?!"

Fuming Estella walked into their house one afternoon, pulling little Daryl by the hand.

"_¡__Diosmio!_ What happened to you, _ijo_?"

Señora Perez hurried to the door, rubbing her hands on her apron.

"The older kids picked on him," Estella said with both her palms on her waist. "Didn't I tell you not to play with those...!" She wanted to say _hijo de puta_ so badly. Son of a bitch. But it wouldn't make her any different from Merle who not only cussed in front of the little boy but also actually taught him how to. She had worked hard undoing Merle's influence or at least balancing out the violence and profanities Daryl learned from him at night by reading stories and poetry to him in the afternoon.

So Estella just gritted her teeth and sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, c'mon! Let's clean you up." She walked ahead to the bathroom's direction, still mouthing Spanish interjections under her breath.

Little Daryl stayed behind for a moment; very much looking like a regretful boy who had promised to be good but was caught being a baddie. He was sweaty and dirty: an adorable little mess of disheveled hair and torn, muddy clothes. His lips were pursed tightly, obviously trying hard not to cry.

"_Buenas tardes_..._Señora_ Perez," little Daryl greeted with shaky voice and with his nose up in the air, trying not to let his sob escape; trying hard to keep a straight face and uphold the pleasantries Estella taught him.

"Oooh, _chiquito. _You sweet boy, _buenas tardes_," Estella's mama said with awe and worry. She offered him her hand which the little boy hurriedly took with both of his, touching the back of the woman's hand to his forehead. "You follow Estellita now. I'm sure she'll calm down in a little while." She looked at him affectionately.

Daryl sniffed and nodded and went on.

The house had a small bathroom mainly because a bathtub was occupying most of the space. Estella had prepared the tub and it was already filled with water and bubbles on top. She was muddy and dirty herself because she chased down every single rogue who bullied little Daryl. There were five and he made each of them say sorry. She had slapped their hands and dared them to tell their parents—she'll take pleasure in lecturing them on parenting and on why their six and seven year old kids should not pick on a single boy who was four years younger than them.

Estella removed her clothes and wrapped a towel around her chest. When Little Daryl came to view, he already knew what to do. The boy took his clothes off and jumped into the tub with his lower lip between his teeth, wincing as the soapy waters met the fresh scratches on his small body. Estella followed suit. It was not the first time they would take a bath together—it had been a routine already since neither Merle nor their parents ever had enough time to clean Daryl up.

They were silent. Little Daryl offered his arm as Estella usually starts with it. The girl took his arm and slowly, gently rubbed the mud stains off with her fingers in silence—neither wanted to be the first one to break it. If the little boy was regretting playing with those kids again after he promised Estella he won't, Estella, too, was regretting scolding Daryl. She knew the kid was getting plenty of that already at home and she had promised herself she'll give him nothing else aside from love.

"Am sorry, Estella," little Daryl said in a slow whisper.

The young girl didn't look up; his regretful face will break her heart and she didn't want her angry façade to fade just yet. She wanted Daryl to take her advice seriously. She knew she couldn't protect him forever so the little kid better learn how to stay away from trouble, lest he'll grow up just like Merle.

The small boy didn't speak again and just let Estella clean him up. Her anger grew stronger every time she saw a scratch or a bruise on Daryl's body. _I should have done more than slapped those little rogues' hands! _But it was when the boy turned around and she saw the thin but long diagonal wound under his shoulder that Estella was not able to contain her fury anymore.

"_Voy a matarlos_! I'm going to kill them!"

She was already about to get off the tub when Daryl spoke in a low voice—almost as if he was ashamed to tell.

"T'is one's from daddy," he said with his arm trying to reach and point his back.

Estella suddenly felt weak on her knees and let herself sink to the tub again. So he's hurting the little boy, too. Already. She took a closer look at the wound and realized the kids couldn't have done this. It was obviously a cut caused by lashing. It was not deep but Daryl was just a little boy and she couldn't imagine how this happened and how the boy felt when it did. The wound looked like it was inflicted yesterday. It was not completely healed.

The boy's back was turned on her; Estella was still speechless.

"I protect Merle 'cause he's my big brother," Daryl explained with his small voice. "Daddy said I was piece of…of sh-sheet." He looked at Estella. "Sh-heet is bad, ain'it?"

Estella fought her tears back and pulled the little boy into an embrace, careful not to hurt him on his wounds. "But you are not that," she told him tenderly. "You are my treasure. _Mi tesoro._ You are my precious, little gem." She stroked his back and kissed the top of his head. "So don't you ever believe what your papa tells you."

Little Daryl pulled away from Estella a little so he could look at her. He nodded and then said, "dun kill him, please?"

Estella had just killed the bastard inside her head. But seeing Daryl's pleading eyes and genuine concern for his abusive father, she couldn't do anything but to just nod and pull the little boy back to her embrace.

* * *

"Look at 'im! He looks like a fuckin' girl!"

"_¡Cállate! _Shut up, Merle! This is a library!"

It was Sunday morning, the only day that they could actually visit the local library. Merle and Estella were between two long, tall shelves while little Daryl was already sitting away on the table with a picture book.

"Cut the fuckin' hair is all I'm sayin'," Merle said without lowering his voice.

Estella looked around and behind the shelves. "Okay! I will do it!" No point keeping quiet if there was actually no one around aside from them.

Finally, Merle left her alone. Estella took the books she wanted to read to her arm—only to put them down on the floor when she saw Merle putting a book behind his shirt, under his pants.

"_¡No me jodas!_" You gotta be kidding me. Estella walked hurriedly to his direction. "Merle! What are you doing?!"

"Shh! This is a library," he jeered. "Besides, ya know what I'm doin'. Ye did it yarself three years ago."

Estella gritted her teeth and mustered all her strength to keep herself from punching the redneck. Three years ago she was new in town. She went to the library and found a poetry book she loved—so much that she put it behind her shirt and hastily tried to walk out of the building. However, the librarian on the front desk noticed the bulge behind her and asked her to stop and turn around.

She was rummaging her head for some excuse, lame excuse, any excuse for having a book hidden behind her when a young boy with black hair rushed to her side and put an arm behind her. "Miss Duncan, we ain't havin' a problem with my friend 'ere, do we?"

The elderly librarian had stood up and stepped closer to them. Some people nearby started to stop and look. "Oh, I hope we are not, Dixon. So will you please turn around little miss?"

Estella had looked at Merle and he nodded. She turned around slowly—the bulge and the book now gone.

"Lookie here. We were all worked up for nothin'," Merle had announced with his smirk. "Now, if ya'll allow us. We're gonna grab some nachos and chorizos!"

Merle had pushed Estella so they walked out of the library together.

"You haven't returned the books you borrowed two months ago, Dixon." Miss Duncan called. "I'm banning you from this library if you don't return them tomorrow!"

Once they were outside and significantly away from the building, Merle produced the book she stole from behind his shirt.

"Here ya go, lady taco vendor," he handed the book over and started to walk away. "If ye gonna do that again an' ye wanna get away, better wear some baggy shirt or pick a library with a male attendant and wear somethin' that'll show yar tits."

And that was why Estella couldn't say no to Merle when he knocked in the middle of the night and shoved a baby to her three years ago.

"Oh, did I just hurt yer feelings?" Merle mocked when Estella seemed to be frozen in time as she remembered the first time they met.

"Why, Merle?" she blurted with a dead serious look on her face.

Merle was taken aback—he literally stepped back, surprised that his shoplifting could get that kind of reaction from her when it was not a secret between them that they do it from time to time for Daryl's needs.

"Whut now?" the redneck asked looking aghast. "Cause I liked this book an' I know I ain't gonna buy this with my money. Look, I ain't gonna get caught. Not with yar boyfriend Paul on shift. I ain't gonna make you look bad. Trust me."

Paul was the guy in charge of the library during weekends. Merle had long been banned here and he was only able got get in whenever he's with Estella and Paul's the one on duty. Merle thought the guy liked the Mexican and he had been calling him Estella's boyfriend.

"No, not that," Estella said, nodding and stepping toward Merle. "Why did you help me that day?" she asked. The young, black-haired boy in front of her fidgeted uncomfortably. "I wanted to know."

Merle was a racist; it had never been a secret. When Merle saved Estella, it was probably more trivial to him than to her.

"Well, it definitely ain't because I thought ye'r pretty," Merle said in an instant.

Estella scoffed. Definitely not. She knew Merle would never see her as anything but his baby brother's nanny. It was a shame because Estella actually found the older Dixon brother attractive; with his blue eyes and well-built body and with the lines that formed from his cheeks to his chin whenever he smiled.

"Why, then?" Estella pressed.

Merle paused as if to think. "Cause it was fuckin' funny to know I ain't the only crazy one stealing books around!"

Estella smiled; she knew Merle's reason for helping her that day fell somewhere along those lines.

"I'm sure glad we share the same disease," she told him and walked back to fetch the books she put on the floor.

"Hell yeah. I did save yar little ass."

She was about to argue with him and tell him she wasn't just thankful because of that. Estella wanted to tell Merle she was glad it happened because it led to her having him and little Daryl in her life. But being with the older Dixon for three years now, she stopped herself from speaking knowing he would either freak out at the drama or laugh at her.

* * *

Estella was fixing herself, getting ready for her shift at the bar, when someone knocked. When she opened the door, she almost toppled back; it was _Señora_ Dixon with little Daryl beside her.

"You must be Estella."

It was the first time she saw the woman. She had brown hair and green eyes. Estella was sure Merle and Daryl's mother was so much prettier when she was younger; it was still traceable but the dark circles below her eyes and lines on her face looked so deep and too many for her age.

"Their dad's away, Merle's away," Estella was told. The older woman pulled little Daryl by the hand, toward the door, into the house. Estella caught the little boy; her eyebrows pulled together as she noted how his mother seemed to just toss her young son like it was something undesirable. "And I'm goin' too. So…you may take care of him for tonight."

Estella stared at the woman, unbelieving. It was not even a request. Or a question.

Merle knew she was helping her parents pay their rents and bills by working at the bar that's why he almost always fetched Daryl before her shift. Exemption were some nights when Merle had jobs that had to be done in the dark—Estella wouldn't even want to know what kind of work was that—or when daddy Dixon was too drunk and it wasn't safe for little Daryl to be around him.

"I'm sure you can just ask Merle for the money." With that, the older woman walked away.

If it had been someone else's mother, Estella would have given her a piece of her mind. But she wasn't just anyone's mother; she was Merle and Daryl's—and that had made a world of difference. She knew little Daryl loved his parents in his own innocent way and Estella wouldn't dream of picking a fight with the Dixon parents. She had this sad, bitter feeling that she knew who the little boy would side with if ever that was to happen. It wouldn't be her. Blood seemed to be the main theme in Dixon family both literally and figuratively.

It was already too late to have someone take her shift that night so Estella brought Daryl along not knowing how she'll explain the situation to Bob, the bar owner. Bob was a sweet old man but firm and authoritative—traits that enabled him to keep his bar running despite a sea of morons frequenting the establishment.

Bob would not allow the little kid inside the bar and Estella perfectly understood the reason. But she explained to him the situation, that there's no one else to look after the kid. She actually asked him if she could take the night off but it was a terribly busy Saturday night.

"Mike and his college friends are in town. They're in here," Bob told Estella. "I ain't gonna be able to make it with another person off tonight."

"I can only stay if Daryl stays," Estella said stubbornly.

Old Bob held his breath and only exhaled when he made up his mind.

"Fine!" he barked. "I shall only allow this for one night. This night only, Estella."

Estella smiled at Daryl.

"But do keep him somewhere ye can keep an eye on 'im," Bob added. "We ain't gonna have a little boy runnin' around the kitchen."

"Do you mean the counter? In _the_ bar?"

"Yes, Estella. In the bar. Dun' make me say that again."

So that was the arrangement that night. Estella mixed and served drinks at the counter while little Daryl sat on a high chair, leaning on the wall and trying to be oblivious to his surroundings. Estella gave him a book to read—to hide himself with, actually and to serve as a wall between the little boy and the craziness that usually happened in the bar.

"A glass of vodka, señorita."

A guy in his mid-twenties sat in front of the counter followed by his friends. Estella had surmised that the guy was Michael. He had brown—almost red hair; his built was athletic and he smiled like a mischievous kid. By the way she understood it, Mike was like a town hero because he was able to get into a prestigious college. Now that it's school break, he brought his friends to his good old town to fool around.

Estella obliged. In no time, the counter was filled by laughing men ordering drinks in-between their talks.

"Our bar maid looks kinda cute!" one of Mike's friend exclaimed after Estella gave him his drink. He had blond hair and prominent jaw line. "What's your name?"

Estella smiled and gave it. She was used to customers hitting on and flirting with her. She had learned that the best response was to just play along and refuse politely once it led to any kind of invitation.

"Doing something after your shift?" another guy asked. "You can come with us and have fun."

Estella waved her hand and shook her head. "No. I have someone waiting for me." She was about to turn around and pretend to do something when the blond guy held her by the wrist. "C'mon, it'll be fun."

"You're hurting me," Estella said.

Suddenly, something small flew and hit the guy right on his forehead.

"Aww," he caught his head with his palm; a bottle cap fell on the counter. All the men fell silent and looked at the direction where the thing came from.

Little Daryl already had another cap in his slingshot aimed and ready.

Estella hurried to his side near the wall and immediately put an arm around the kid and lowered his hand.

"Wow, this girl's your kid?" Mike asked with an amused smile.

The other guys laughed looking entertained.

"No—"

"Mm not a girl!"

"Daryl, just let—"

"Really? Well, you look like a sweet, little girl," Mike teased. "What's your name?"

"Daryl Dixon!"

"It's little Darlina!" shouted the guy with a red patch on his forehead marking the spot where Daryl hit him with the bottle cap. The other boys laughed.

Estella wouldn't take being drunk as an excuse. They were bullying him. She charged back to the counter.

"You," Estella pointed at each of the guys, "are acting more like a girly, little girl than the kid!"

But the rowdy boys continued laughing—until a second bottle cap flew in the air, hitting the same guy on the same red spot on his forehead.

The moment the boys were silenced was the moment Little Daryl spoke with his squinted eyes and pulled up cheeks. "I have a dick!" he shouted angrily. "Even my name have dick when you say it!"

The boys smiled, but didn't laugh anymore. They looked at the little kid in a new light.

"You're right," Mike said, nodding. "We're sorry, Daryl," he told him looking sincere. He looked at Estella. "Your boy here has got fine eyes. He hit Tony twice on his forehead." Estella smirked at him. "Here," he put a bill on the counter, "his drink's on me."

Mike stood up and his friends followed suit. When they were back on the tables, Estella pocketed the bill (she'd be able to buy Daryl's formula with it) and went to Daryl's side. The kid was ready with his pleading look but he was surprised that instead of scolding, Estella wrapped her arm around the little boy.

"Sorry I get ya in trouble again," she heard Daryl whisper.

"No, _mi Tesoro. _You saved me." Estella let go and bended her knees so she could look at him eye to eye. "But don't say that word again. You know what I'm talking about."

The boy nodded. "Can I call it Little Daryl, then? Merle calls his Little Merle—although he always says that it ain't little."

Estella stood up and caught her forehead with her palm. She felt like a headache was coming. She couldn't decide if she should get angry or if she should laugh.

* * *

Since he turned three, little Daryl's hair had been long: right now his brown hair was parted on the left side and almost reaching his shoulders. So on one specific night that he was staying in Perezes' house, Estella finally decided to cut it.

"I'm gonna miss it," little Daryl whispered through the silent _snap, snap_ of the scissors.

"Me, too," Estella said. "But I bet you look better with it short."

They didn't talk until Estella was finished giving the boy a clean cut showing his ears and blue eyes.

She kissed the top of his head and stood up. "Off to bed now."

Daryl ran to their bed and pulled the sheets to his chin while Estella swept the hair on the floor after picking and a few strands and keeping them.

In a few minutes, they were lying side by side with Estella stroking little Daryl's hair and singing him his lullaby.

"_My little prince, my little darling,_

_You close your eyes and sleep._

_I shall guard you with my heart and ring._

_My little prince, my little darling,_

_Tomorrow you can be anything._

_A knight with crossbow or a crowned king."_

"Estella?"

"Yes?" she hummed.

"Why yar song have crossbow?" Daryl asked in a low, sleepy voice. "In the stories, the knights an' the kings have swords."

"But that's the very reason," Estella explained. "Everybody has a sword. It's normal. And it's boring. But a crossbow. It's different and exciting."

Daryl nodded. "Me dad has one," he said smiling rather proudly. Estella didn't know that. She smiled at the kid and continued singing.

"_My little prince, my little darling,_

_Someday when you have grown;_

_You'll guard me with your armor shining._"

Estella saw Daryl closed his eyes and thought he was asleep already. But he spoke again; opened his eyes again and asked another question.

"Ye ain't gonna cry if I grow up an' leave, do ya?"

Estella stirred and looked at Daryl closely.

"Leave?" she repeated. "Where will you be going?"

"I will protect my mama 'cause she ain't strong like ya."

Estella's shoulders dropped. Blood and the Dixons. She put her arm around the little boy and pulled him closer to her.

"Of course I won't cry," she lied. "But if you grow strong enough, you'll be able to protect anyone—everyone you love."

Little Daryl smiled and nodded and embraced her back. What Estella wouldn't tell him was that she never wanted him to grow up.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Daryl in the woods.

* * *

**Writer's Notes:**

Hi! Thank you so much for reading this fanfic!

Please allow me to thank everyone who responded to this: You guys made my day!

Thank you so much for everyone who **followed **_**Daryl's Lullaby:**_

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My hugs and kisses to those who **favorite-d:**

**Abby 'Zombie Slayin' Dixon****Pok3monTrain3erBlu3****Rainbow Apocalypse****WhiteDragon95****gidget1115**

And of course, my love to those who left a **REVIEW:**

**Abby 'Zombie Slayin' Dixon**: Aww, thank you so much. I'm glad you found this fic. I was also trying to look for a good baby/young Daryl fic and thought that I should just try to write one. I hope you enjoyed three-year old Daryl just as much as you did baby Daryl

**Pok3monTrain3erBlu3****: **Yey! You're here as well! Thank you so much for reading all of my fanfics Oh, I really hope Estella can be with the Dixon brother when apocalypse starts. But some complications ahead may not point that way But thanks for asking!

**Rainbow Apocalypse****:** You totally made my day with your review! Thank you so much. I'm happy you found this amazing. I really, really hope you liked three-year old Daryl as well And yeah, poor Estella; we might see the repercussion of being Daryl's pseudo-mother in the next chapter. And Merle is just a sweet big brother like that *squueeee! And…sorry I didn't write about the reason Merle did not return that night cause I had to skip three years. But knowing Merle, there could be a number of reason: perhaps he was caught up on a task (odd jobs with the gang), or perhaps it still wasn't safe for baby Daryl to go home—remember, Merle just got beaten by their dad that day.

There! I hope you still continue reading!

**i luv ewansmile****:** Aww, thank you. I hope you find this chapter lovelier with three-year old Daryl

And that's it! Thank you so much for reading! And if it will not be too much, please do leave me a **REVIEW**. I love reading them! And I'd like to know what the readers think. So pretty please? Thank you so much.


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